Opposites Attract

to his comfort and let her grief run its course.
    It had grown dark and her body was weak. There were no more tears left in her. Ty’s arms were strong around her. Beneath her damp cheek she could hear the steady beat of his heart. Gently, almost absently, his fingers stroked the base of her neck.
    ***
    She’d nearly told him. Asher closed her eyes, too weary to feel fear or regret. If she could have summoned up the energy, she would have been grateful for the tears that had prevented her confession.
    I lost your baby.
Would he be holding her now if those words had spilled out? What good would it do to tell him? she asked herself. Why make him grieve for something he had never known? And grieve he would, she knew, after the anger passed. It came to her suddenly that it wasn’t only fear that kept the secret locked inside her. She couldn’t bear to see Ty hurt as she had hurt.
    How could she explain to him about Eric without dragging up old bitterness, opening old wounds? Ty hadn’t wanted her any longer—Jess had made that abundantly clear. But Eric had. It had been her pride that had turned to Eric, then her sense of duty that had kept her with him. Perhaps if she had been stronger after the accident she would never have made those promises to him. . . .
    Asher had floated to consciousness on a wave of pain. What reason was there to wake up and hurt? she thought groggily. Sleep, sleep was so peaceful.
    She remembered the shouting, the fall, the swimming darkness. The baby . . . Ty’s baby. Panic—the panic pierced by lethargy. Her eyelids seemed weighted with lead, but she forced them open even as she reached a protective hand to her stomach. Stern and cold, Eric’s face floated in front of her eyes.
    “The baby,” she managed through dry lips.
    “Dead.”
    Tearing, burning grief replaced the pain. “No.” Moaning, she closed her eyes again. “Oh, God, no. My baby, not my baby. Ty—”
    “Listen to me, Asher.” Eric spoke briskly. For three days he had waited while Asher drifted in and out of consciousness. She had lost the baby and a great deal of blood. Once she had nearly slipped away, but he had willed her to live. The love he had once felt had turned to resentment that bordered on hate. She had deceived him, made a fool of him. Now he would have his payment.
    “My baby . . .”
    “The baby’s dead,” he said flatly, then gripped her hand. “Look at me.” She obeyed with eyes glazed with sorrow. “You’re in a private clinic. The reason for your being here will never be known beyond the front doors. If you do what I say.”
    “Eric . . .” A spark of hope flickered. With what strength she had, Asher tightened her fingers on his. “Are they sure? Couldn’t there be a mistake? Please—”
    “You miscarried. The servants will be discreet. As far as anyone knows, we’ve slipped away for a few days.”
    “I don’t understand.” She pressed her hand against her stomach as if to make the truth a lie. “The fall . . . I fell down the stairs. But—”
    “An accident,” he stated, making the loss of the child sound like a broken glass.
    Insidiously the pain slipped through. “Ty,” Asher moaned, shutting her eyes.
    “You’re my wife, and will remain so until I say differently.” Eric waited until her eyes focused on him again. “Would you have me call your lover and tell him you married me while carrying his child?”
    “No.” She could only whisper the word.
Ty.
She ached for him. He was lost to her—as lost as the child they’d made together.
    “Then you’ll do as I say. You’ll retire from professional tennis. I won’t have the press speculating about the two of you and dragging my name through the mud. You’ll behave as I expect Lady Wickerton to behave. I will not touch you,” he continued with a trace of disgust. “Any physical desire I felt for you is gone. We will live in the manner I designate or your lover will hear from me about this game you played. Is this understood?”
    What did it matter how she lived? Asher asked herself. She was already dead. “Yes. I’ll do whatever you want. Please, leave me alone now.”
    “As you wish.” He rose. “When you’re stronger, you’ll give an official press release on your retirement. Your reason will be that you have no more time for tennis or any desire for a career that would take you away from your husband and your adopted country.”
    “Do you think it matters to me?” she whispered.